


Uncanny

by December Dragon (StarlightOnInk)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Fluff, Jack-o'-lanterns, M/M, Nationverse, Pumpkin - Freeform, Pumpkin carving, Pumpkins, Romance, RusAme, RusAme Discord Event, Suggestive Themes, canonverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 10:53:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12252885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarlightOnInk/pseuds/December%20Dragon
Summary: Russia and America enjoy the quaint festivities of autumn, including making jack-o-lanterns. America carves one in the likeness of Russia, with some creative liberties. RusAme oneshot.





	Uncanny

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the RusAme Discord Event (Autumn Event) on tumblr! Inspired by the prompt "pumpkins."

**Uncanny**

Though too fleeting and ready to pass into a biting chill, autumn was an enjoyable enough time for Russia. That same cool air that nipped playfully at exposed cheeks also drew people to their stoves, and from those stoves and out open windows would drift the warm heady scents of freshly baked foods. Leaves scraped and skated across the ground, weaving between feet in their aimless ambling. A small seed of holiday anticipation was tucked tenderly into the hearts of all, as the coming autumn meant winter’s many festivities.

Throughout all this, Russia was able to enjoy the autumn well enough at home and with America, each implementing a pleasant blend of their own seasonal habits. America never voiced any protests against Russia’s cooking, always finishing every last drop of stew and practically licking his plate clean when presented with Prague Cake. Likewise, Russia enjoyed the slightly protracted mild temperatures of America’s autumn and always indulged in any outdoor sports the younger nation wanted to play.

He was even willing to participate in pumpkin carving, under the pretense of having some to make a meal with. Ready to agree to just about anything, America had promptly agreed.

And so Russia found himself outside, stood before a table on America’s front lawn, sleeves rolled up and eyes narrowed as he considered the large orange canvas before him. Beside him, America is happily alternating between sorting through supplies and taking brief swigs of brandy. Between them sat a small supply of pumpkins; isolated from the group were the ones they would start carving. In front of Russia sat a wide, squat pumpkin with the stem cut almost completely to the base. America had selected a more rounded pumpkin, much of the stem still remaining.

“Gonna carve that before it goes rotten?” America inquired with a grin, finger latching on to the string of Russia’s apron, pulling himself beside the taller figure.

“I cannot exactly undo anything that gets done,” Russia said softly. His gaze remained trained on his pumpkin, but he did acknowledge America’s approach by bumping his hip lightly. Grin widening, America returned the gesture before returning to his makeshift carving station.

“Just goes with what feels right, broski,” America advised sagely.

“Instinct does not grant good quality.”

Blue eyes slid to Russia’s contemplative form, the frown pulling at the corners of his lips; the sight only caused America to flash his teeth in his broadest smile yet, and it took the briefest glance for Russia to practically see the gears turning in America’s mind.

“Alfred,” Russia said shortly, finally picking up his carving knife and picking a spot to begin. “You should know by now the least assuring thing to see is you giving me that look.”

“Don’t know what you mean.” As if that settled the matter, America turned dismissively away. To Russia’s confusion, America ignored his own carving knife, first instead turning his pumpkin onto its side. Shaking his head, Russia turned from America’s bizarre antics to focus on his own work. The tools they had brought out varied in sharpness, length, and thickness- all so they would want for nothing as they carefully went about carving their pumpkins. Before doing anything else, Russia meticulously hollowed out his pumpkin, seeds and fibrous orange strands sticking to his bare arms.

“Sexy,” America said, swiping a finger across fine platinum arm hairs and pumpkin pulp alike. Still not turning, Russia heard rather than saw America’s bark of laughter as he shooed him away. Finally glancing over, Russia’s eyebrows rose in bemusement as he saw America had carved a hole for himself to hollow out his pumpkin not where the stem was, but on the bottom. America continued on tugging out the odorous innards and placing them messily onto one of the many drop cloths they had set out. Blinking, wondering at the enigma that was America’s brain, Russia returned his attention to the jack-o-lantern he was planning. Leaning in, he carefully slid the knife through the skin, sawing and adjusting and prodding and twisting as needed. With an obvious expertise, Russia carved out delicate curves and graceful arcs, small petals and writhing vines. The two worked in relative quiet, the silence broken by the occasional grunt or thoughtful hum, or the dull _thunk_ of a glass against wood and the puncturing of the pumpkin’s skin.

The pallid skin of his arms now a faint orange, the dusting of hairs mingled with seeds and pumpkin innards, Russia stepped back from his work with a satisfied sigh. Anyone familiar with his early history knew of the fame of Russian woodworking, of the churches made entirely of wood without a single nail, of the ornate _nalichniki_ window frame carvings proudly embellishing old homes. Fortunately, that skill with a blade translated well into this work, providing Russia with the patience and precision so vital to creating delicate art. The result today was a jack-o-lantern featuring scrollwork set around bountiful flowers wrapping around the pumpkin in soothing waves.

“Wow,” America breathed, leaning over to admire Russia’s creation. “Alright, sure, come into my home and upstage me. It’s all good,” he teased, giving Russia a light shove, considerate enough to avoid his shirt and aim for his apron instead. “I kind of wanna preserve this,” he added, leaning closer still to better appreciate the craftsmanship.

“I will charge,” Russia said serenely, tone innocent. Eyes not innocent.

“I’m sure we can come to some arrangement.” America glanced up from under dark golden lashes, the lenses of his glasses flashing in front of pools of molten blue mischief.

Russia smiled, eyes sliding to America’s own pumpkin. Quick as a heartbeat, Russia’s smile turned to a look of confusion. He sidestepped America and inspected the creation. America had left his pumpkin on its side, hollowed it out, and continued to work from there. Above the long stem were carved wide eyes, and below was a smile broad enough to stretch across half of the pumpkin. Underneath was a drop cloth, wrapped around the bottom with remarkable similarity to that of a scarf.

Russia glowered, face twisted as if he had just tasted something sour. Something in his look must have amused America, who flashed a cheeky, albeit mildly sheepish, grin of his own. “Like it?” America asked innocently. Eyes also not innocent.

“Fedya, _dorogoi_ ,” Russia said slowly, voice venomously sweet. “Who is this pumpkin carved to be?”

Still bracing, America draped an arm over Russia’s shoulder, keeping a firm hold even as Russia squirmed beside him, expression darkening with every second. “What’s the matter? Don’t see the resemblance?” he asked.

“ _Nyet_.”

“Well, boo! Pumpkin-van has your lovely scarf, that big smile I love so much, your big, beautiful, gorgeous, sexy, handsome, adorable, expressive, hot-”

“Are you in love, America?”

“Eyes. And it has- ah!”

Russia had stopped resisting America’s hold. Instead, his own arm wrapped around America’s waist. Tightened. Tightened further still.

“And what, America?”

Smile slightly twisted yet spirit undaunted, America muscled his way onto his tippy-toes, placing a long, wet kiss onto Russia’s nose. “And that big, handsome nose I love so much.”

Russia delivered a pinch to America’s ear; undeterred, America paused in his kissing to pinch Russia’s nose briefly, lips returning to the offended spot in a flurry of teasing, apologetic pecks.

“That looks nothing like me,” Russia said stubbornly through America’s ministrations.

“I think the resemblance is uncanny,” America said evenly, eyes dancing.

“I know you are delusional,” Russia huffed.

“Delusionally right and delusionally in love.”

“If you think that changes anything-”

“Aaaw,” a new voice cooed from the sidewalk. Both their heads swiveled round to spot some of America’s neighbors spectating. “That’s so cute you made a jack-o-lantern of your boyfriend, Mr. Jones,” one of them said delightedly. “You totally nailed it!” The gaggle of friends moved off, talking excitedly of what a cute idea America’s was.

Eyes narrowed, Russia regarded the still glowing American beside him, deftly flicking the rogue strand of hair that refused to lie flat. “You are delusionally sleeping on the couch,” he informed America.

“Wha- it’s my house!”

“And it is my comfort you wished for. I could leave right now, if you prefer.”

“What a baby. I should go get a baby bonnet to put on this thing, really complete the image.”

“I shall make one of you then, and give it a black eye and knocked out tooth.”

“That a threat, hot stuff?”

“Less a threat, more of a promise, little one.”

“And what does that mean, ‘little one’?”

Remaining pumpkins were pulled for the pile, their stem lengths being used as euphemisms for the length of other extremities. The banter continued in such a manner for a while longer, both in the garden and the kitchen, the den and the bath tub. Looking back, Russia would not admit exactly how America had persuaded him to take a picture side-by-side with “Pumpkin-van,” nor was he himself entirely sure why he crammed himself beside America on the couch. What he would acknowledge, however, was how not even America’s annoying jokes and delusional parallels could interrupt the tranquility of their joint autumn celebrations.

In fact, they may just be a necessary part of every year.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: This is inspired by zelo-s on tumblr, their RusAme Autumn Events Prompt, or the RusAme Discord Event, particularly the prompt of something to do with pumpkins. I remember making a jack-o-lantern and using the stem as a nose for making one of Dobby the house-elf from Harry Potter, and the idea of having it as a nose stuck with me for Ivan with his own beautiful sizeable masterpiece. Feedback is welcome, and definitely check out the event and anything in the tags!
> 
> Also image search nalichnik because those window frames are works of art, breathtaking, perfect in every way.
> 
> Indeed, woodwork was quite the popular skill back in the day in Russia. If a fire swept through Moscow (as was kinda common place for a while) entire houses could be rebuilt by the next day. And churches such as the one on Kizhi island are indeed all wood and have no nails or sharp connector pieces like nails. Those are also miraculous feats of wonder and beauty. Some were built with just an axe alone.


End file.
